I pride myself on being fairly well traveled, so it is with some embarrassment I confess that I have never been to Italy. I know, gasp. In my defense, I’ve wanted to go for years, but was always kiboshed by my love and loyalty to my french husband. Let me explain.
It’s 2006, in Berlin, Germany. France versus Italy in the World Cup Finals. Tensions and stakes between the rival teams have never been higher. The score is tied when Italian player, Marco Materazzi, decides to play a psychological game and begins provoking France’s soccer king, Zinedine Zidane. Something about mothers, sisters and sexual atrocities. Zidane reacts as any hot blooded, Latin man would. Click here for a visual. Chaos ensues. Zidane gets a red card and is ejected from the final, most important game of his career. Italy scores, wins the World Cup. Even the statue France erected in Zidane’s honor (seriously) could not erase the decade long grudge my husband has held against the country.
Fortunately, time has started to heal his wounds (and it didn’t hurt that Italy did not qualify for the next World Cup) – I talk him into a few days in Rome in exchange for my pledge that I will cheers all my drinks to Zidane and allow him to vent while in the city (ie, allow him to call Italians dishonorable cheaters a few times a day). Deal.
We did all the things one does, when in Rome, however, my favorite was Vatican City. I booked a “Highlights” tour weeks in advance, which was three hours containing an overwhelming amount of interesting history and information. I was most touched by the story of Michelangelo, who was called on by Pope Julius II to bring the story of Genesis to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. See, Michelangelo wanted nothing to do with painting. He was a sculptor, but after several refusals, he eventually submitted, agreed and created one of the most important works of art in the world. His story was another testament to the Hero’s Journey and how we are often called to do things we don’t want to do. And it is in those answers of the call that we find our greatest life’s work and purpose.
No photos were allowed of the ceiling and if there were, I wouldn’t have taken any. It is just one of those things you have to see with your own eyes and not through a screen or crappy smart phone photo.
We did return to the Vatican on Sunday to take part in Pope Francis’s weekly angelus (blessing) which resulted in me contracting Pope Francis fever. As a striving minimalist, I threw my values out the window and bought way too many trinkets dedicated to his Holiness. Basically, if you need a statue, rosary, pin and/or postcard with the Pope’s face on it for the next decade – I am your gal.
The rest of the time in Rome was spent walking around, watching fireworks over the Colosseum on New Year’s Eve, leaving no carb behind, dodging crowds and coughing at the clouds of cigarette smoke they must be pumping out of the sewers. Haven’t you gotten the memo Romans?
On January 3rd, it was time to return to reality, the United States and specifically Houston for my last Peptide Receptor Radionuclide Therapy on January 11th…to give cancer another head-butt.